A child of the street
by suddenlysomewherethatsgreen
Summary: An expansion of Nixxie-the-Lizard's story "I started life as an orphan". Through a series of time jumps we reflect on who Seymour's parents are and explore his early life pre-musical a bit. It's sad but its something very different. Rated T for some adult themes, character death, and violence. COMPLETED
1. Chapter 1: Getting out

_**Author's note** : This story is an expansion of Nixxie-the-Lizard's story "I started life as an orphan" which is awesome. I received permission to do so, they were very nice. Upon reading it I began wondering more about Seymour's parents stories, and when and if he ever found out who they were. So that's exactly what this is. Here we will find out about Seymour's origin through a series of time jumps (so bear with me). This is my first chapter fic and I will be updating. There will be 12-14 chapters_

 _Important things to know before reading:_

 _All my fics take place in the same universe, so if something seems out of place or unfamiliar it might be in another one of my stories. Sorry about that_

 _Although the year is never mentioned, in the movie the calendar behind the counter matches September 1964, which doesn't make sense because Kennedy wasn't president then, but nonetheless that's when the events of the musical will take place in this world_

 _Both the characters of Alana and Erik belong to Nixxie-the-Lizard (to whom I dedicate this story) and I do not own any of the characte_ _rs from Little Shop of Horrors_

* * *

 **Chapter One:**

 **May 8 1952**

Seymour wracked his brain trying to think of what he did wrong. He had taken off last week for a couple of hours, but he had already paid the price for that. He had the bruises as proof. There should be no reason Mr. Stanley should ask to see him now. He never did.

Mr. Dean, holding Seymour by the back collar of his shirt led him through the Skid Row Home For Boys. Several other boys caught sight and snickered. Others stopped to gawk. Goodie-two-shoes Seymour was never in trouble. His heart was pounding harder and harder the closer they came to the office. Seymour briefly considered taking off running. He wouldn't make it. Mr. Dean had a hard grip on his neck. And even if he did break free it would only be a second before he was grabbed again and pounded.

Upon reaching the office door his feet stalled. Looking up at it he felt only two feet tall. Unable to move, Mr. Dean opened the door and physically pushed him inside, slamming it shut behind him. He stood there dumbstruck. Mr. Stanley was sitting in his office chair. This was nothing out of the ordinary. What surprised him was, sitting just across from him was Mr. Mushnik, the owner of the flower shop. Mr. Stanley motioned to the chair next to Mr. Mushnik and Seymour slid into it.

* * *

Seymour couldn't help but stare. A job?

"Unless you'd rather stay here."

Seymour hesitated slightly considering his options. He'd grown up here. It was the only home he knew. It wasn't anywhere near perfect though. He could go without the beatings and the berating from the other boys. He thought back to the times he had spent in Mr. Mushnik's shop in the past. The aroma of flowers, the freedom to move about as he pleased. A job would put food in his belly, real food, like meatloaf and water. A job? A real job? A shy smile spread on his lips and he shook his head.

Mr. Stanley nodded. "That's what I thought."

"And we don't have to worry about his parents?" Mr. Mushnik asked lowering his voice, but only slightly.

Mr. Stanley snorted and motioned his thumb at Seymour. "For this one? No. In fact…"

He rose from his swivel chair and crossed the room to a silver filing cabinet. The drawer made a loud unpleasant screech upon being opened. He ran his fingers along the lines of the folders inside until he found what he was looking for. Reaching in he grabbed a manila folder Seymour had never seen it before but read his name clearly on the front.

"Oh I remember this one," Mr. Stanley chuckled slightly opening it and sinking back into his chair.

"Really?" Mr. Mushnik asked with a hint of interest.

"Not many dolls wander here in the middle of the night with an open head wound and a face full of bruises," he replied not looking up.

Seymour gripped the arms of his chair. He had never really heard anything about his parents. It was all kept under wraps considering how young he was. What did Mr. Stanley mean? Open head wound?

"I actually knew Alana," Stanley replied pulling him out of his thoughts, "Quite the dancer." He laughed at the recollection.

"Alana?" Seymour mouthed. His mother's name was Alana? He squeezed the arms of the chair tighter, knuckles turning white, and felt his heart beat loud in his chest.

"Here, see for yourself."

He closed the folder and extended it out. Seymour reached out for it but instead it was placed in Mr. Mushnik's hands. In doing so Stanley caught sight of Seymour and frowned. He'd nearly forgotten his presence. Mr. Mushnik opened the folder and Seymour craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse. There wasn't much in there. Only a few papers. Mr. Mushnik shook his head and made a faint "Tsk" noise before closing it and flopping it on the desk. Stanley reached for it but not before Seymour snatched it up with both hands and pulled it toward him. He tried to protest but realized the damage had already been done and turned back to Mushnik.

Unfolding it he found his birth certificate. He'd never seen it before, though he figured he'd obviously had one. His eyes darted across the page at the sloppy writing in black ink next to the thick typewriter print.

 **Full name** _ **: Seymour Krelborn**_

 **Sex:** _ **Male**_

 **Date:** _ **September 23 1940**_

His hand trailed to the bottom of the page

 **Name of mother:** _ **Alana Krelborn**_

 **Age:** _ **20**_

His fingertips traced the words and a smile bubbled on his lips. Alana Krelborn. His mother. He'd often wondered what she looked like. He imagined her to be quite beautiful, maybe with a hint of curls like his own. His vision was always cloudy though, trying to conjure up a ghostly face he had never actually seen before. But now he had a name to add to it. Alana Krelborn. He liked the way it sounded. His hand continued to trail down the paper.

 **Name of father:** _ **Erik Scr…**_

 **Age:**

This confused Seymour. He tried to focus on his father's name to make it out, but to no avail. "Scr" was all that was written clearly. The rest was just a trail as if someone was done writing or didn't know how to finish. And why wasn't his age present? He knew why though and his heart sank. He'd been taunted by the other boys about this, and even considered it for himself. They didn't know who his father is. He had figured it to be true but it hurt nonetheless. So is life for a Skid Row orphan. He chewed on the inside of his lip in irritation. After contemplating this he turned it over to see what else was in the folder. Immediately he froze.

 **Certificate of Death**

 **Name:** _ **Alana F. Krelborn**_

 **Date:** _ **September 23 1940**_

His mother was dead. September 23 1940. He didn't need to be told what killed her. Clasping both his hands over his mouth he let faint screech as if he'd been harmed. Both men who had paid him little to no notice before now stopped and turned to him. He sat there frozen, both hands clasped over his mouth and eyes squeezed shut in fear of weeping. Stanley leaned against the desk slightly to see exactly which paper was in his lap.

"Ah Jesus kid," he sighed shaking his head.

Seymour took several deep breaths behind his palms before he said anything. He felt like crying. Desperately he tried to hold it in but was unsuccessful. His throat burned. Looking up at Stanley through his tearful eyes he choked, "What… what did you mean, head wound?"

Stanley sighed again and rubbed his hands hard on his face thinking of how to respond, if at all. He had forgotten Alana. He saw her now before him, clear in Seymour's face. Even the look of tearful eyes was familiar. He had never shown much love or even admiration to Seymour in the past but suddenly he felt pity.

"Right here," he said tracing his index finger down his temple. "Like a boot."

Unknowingly Seymour mirrored his movement.

"She had bruises too. Everywhere," he moved his hand in a circular motion in front of his face for emphasis. "She'd been through hell."

"Why? What happened?"

Stanley didn't answer this. Seymour's eyes darted from Stanley to Mr. Mushnik, who seemed completely unmoved, and almost irritated by this conversation. He threw his gaze back at Stanley. WHAT HAPPENED? He wanted to scream. His eyes fell back down at the folder on his lap. He flipped back over to his birth certificate, knowing he had to asked the burning question.

"Who is Er…"

His words were halted by Mr. Stanley reaching over the desk and snatching the folder out of his hands.

"Look kid, another time. Alright?" He turned his eyes back to Mushnik, "As I was saying, it could be a couple days but I'll try to shuffle some paperwork around."

"How soon can he get to work?"

He shrugged.

"Monday at the latest. And like I said, we'll call you if there's any trouble," Mr. Stanley said rising from his chair as if to signal the end of their conversation. Mr. Mushnik got up as well and shook Mr. Stanley's hand. He turned to Seymour and briefly considered extending his hand to him as well, but instead he nodded and ushered himself out the door. Seymour's eyes followed him until the door closed fully then spun himself back around in his chair to face Mr. Stanley. He didn't say anything. His expression spoke his thoughts clearly. Ignoring his wishes Mr. Stanley crossed the room and refiled his folder.

"That'll be all, Krelborn. Close the door behind you."

He couldn't move. He watched as Mr. Stanley returned to his desk and pulled out a form and began writing, completely ignoring his company. It was clear he wasn't giving any more answers today. Reluctantly, Seymour rose from his chair and moved his body slowly into the hall. As he closed the door behind him two things were on his mind:

His mother was dead,

And he was finally getting out of here.


	2. Chapter 2: Bad idea

**Chapter Two:**

 **September 22 1940**

 _Just tell him,_ Alana Krelborn thought to herself.

Getting up from her chair she began to pace the room drumming her fingers on her abdomen. After several passes she felt tired again and sunk back into her chair.

 _Just tell him!_ She thought again.

It's not that she wanted him to know, she definitely didn't. The further this child was from him the better. Though she had quickly run out of options. She'd lost her job. Obviously a pregnant woman wasn't allowed to continue her night job dancing at "The Gutter". With no income it wouldn't be long before she was forced out of her apartment, and when that happened she had nowhere else to go. Her family was long gone.

It was this longing to keep her baby in a warm safe place that drove her desire to tell him. Erik had money. It was what first attracted her to him. It was something she'd never had. Maybe if he knew her situation he would feel pity and give her some, at least for a couple months. He owed her that much for getting her in this situation. She sighed knowing he would never see it that way. It was her fault. Everything was her fault.

He had a wife though, one Alana had never seen before but heard in stories from him in a mocking irritating voice. If all else fails she figured she could resort blackmail. She didn't know about the affair, though Alana wondered how. They weren't the best at hiding it, and the evidence was clear in her quickly growing figure.

Reluctantly she rose from her chair and started for the door, grabbing her jacket on the way. Autumn had come to Skid Row. Though the air was crisp and cool it never felt clean and there was a foul stench constantly lingering. There were no yellow or orange leaves to speak of, because there were no trees. Everything was brown, always brown, no matter what time of year it was. Alana tried to retrace her steps. It had been months since she'd been to his apartment and she considered the fact that he might not even still be there. The walk felt longer than it had before. Both the constant dread and the extra weight of carrying another person slowed her down.

She paused when she came upon his apartment building, slightly nicer than all the rest. She thought she saw him out front but it couldn't be. He was much too small. Alana stared at his miniature from afar, a boy somewhere between the ages of 10 and 12 with slick jet black hair and a dark brown leather aviator jacket. He was laying down on his stomach on the city sidewalk, propped up by his elbows. In both hands he held a magnifying glass. As Alana krept closer she saw what he was doing. A swarm of ants were racing around underneath as the hot sun burnt them alive. The child let out a wicked laugh that chilled her, even as small as he was. Her hand gravitated to her belly and she said a silent prayer. _Dear God, please don't let this be my child's future._

She passed by him and ascended the short concrete steps up to the building. He paid her no mind in doing so and continued to laugh. She paused at the door realizing she had never been here in the daytime.

 _Do I just go up there and demand to see him? What if his wife is home? What do I do if she answers the door?_

Her thoughts were halted by this very occurrence. In front of her the door swung open and a woman stepped out. She wasn't tall but neither was Alana. She was plump too. Her face look unnaturally pink under her blonde hair in faux curls. Seeing Alana she curved her brow.

"May I help you?" she asked with a hint of sarcasm.

Alana tried to find her breath. "Erik… Erik Scrivello, is he home?"

The blonde woman pursed her lips. "Who is asking?"

She couldn't lie. She was very bad at it. But she also knew she couldn't not answer.

"I just… I need to see him."

The woman's eyes gravitated toward Alana's eight-month-pregnant belly.

"Couldn't keep your legs closed, could ya?"

"E… Excuse me?"

Her gaze moved back to her face, her confusion replaced by anger.

"I wasn't born yesterday kid. Jesus Christ, how old are you anyway? 16?"

Alana backed up slightly, down a stair. Now this woman was towering over her.

"I… I don't know what you are talking about."

"Orin! Come inside!" She screeched.

Behind her the child with the magnifying glass blew a raspberry, though didn't move from his spot.

"Look," she said raising her finger and ignoring her child's response, "I always suspected my husband's after work activities. You think you're the first?"

She didn't scream or shout or hit as Alana suspected she would, instead she was nearly laughing. She was mocking Alana, pathetic as she was in this situation. It was as easy as a limp mouse being served to a hungry cat.

"Probably not," she continued, "but you are the first to show up here like this. And this," she motioned to her middle, "This takes the cake."

Alana looked down at her feet, but found herself staring at her belly instead.

"I just… I need to talk to him."

"Fat chance. He's not even here. And neither should you be." Her expression and tone changed as she turned her gaze over Alana's shoulder and hollered, "Orin darling, now please!"

Alana turned around to face him and sighed heavily. It was a bad idea to come here. The child called Orin climbed off the sidewalk and slammed his foot down hard on the remaining ants, pivoting the toe of his boot just to be sure. He shook his head to the side pushing his hair out of his face and climbed the stairs. In doing so he knocked Alana hard on the shoulder and she let out a small whimper, to which he snickered before closing the door behind him. This exchange had a sense of familiarity to her. The woman grunted as she climbed the top step after him. Opening the door she paused and looked over her shoulder. Her laughter had stopped and now she was glaring and balling her hands into fists. Alana stepped down another step out of her swinging reach.

"Just get out of here bitch!" She hissed slamming the door behind her.

A moment passed before Alana moved. Slowly she made her way down the stairs. Both her hands reached for her belly. She held on tight as if it was her life line. Opening her mouth she let out a great cry. Not of pain, so to speak. But from hopelessness.

 _What do I do now?_


	3. Chapter 3: meanings

_**Author's note:**_ _Some of these chapters (this one specifically) will seem a little out of place but I PROMISE by the end it will all make sense. Just bare with me. Also my updates may sometimes come slow but I wont abandon this. I will either finish this story or die trying._

* * *

 **Chapter Three:**

 **February 11 1964**

"Whatcha got there Audrey?"

Seymour had walked into the back room of the shop to find his blonde coworker sitting at the table with her back to him. Her elbows were rested on the table and her chin placed on her palms. Open in front of her was a book as opposed to her usual "Better homes and gardens" magazine. Upon hearing his voice she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

"Oh, well I was havin' a little trouble with the valentine's arrangements this year, and Mr. Mushnik brought this…"

She trailed off as Seymour moved himself onto the stool next to her. She grinned. She liked the feeling of having him so close.

"This is Mr. Mushnik's?" he asked.

She closed the cover and slid it over to him. It resembled an old encyclopedia with it's thick greenish cover and yellowing pages.

"Uh huh."

He opened the book in the middle to a page with different black and white sketches of roses surrounded by words and definitions.

"What is this?" he asked not looking up.

She smiled, "Just a little somethin' about different types of flowers and colors and their meanings."

He met her eyes with a look of both confusion and disbelief. "Meanings?"

"Yeah, they all mean somethin'."

He turned back to the open page. "I didn't know that," he nearly whispered, fascinated.

"It's true! Look!"

Her ruby nail tapped on a paragraph under a particularly large rose sketch.

 _ **Red Roses: A red rose is an unmistakable expression of love. Red roses convey deep emotions - be it love, longing or desire. Red Roses can also be used to convey respect, admiration or devotion.**_

"Every plant?" he asked showing interest.

She shrugged, "Well at least every flower, they all mean something different. Something significant. Since I'm building the bouquets, Mr. Mushnik thought it would be a good idea to… Oh!"

She stopped speaking as his hands quickly flipped the book to the index. His fingers trailed down the page looking for something specific. Upon finding it he flipped back to the front of the book which made a thud on the table. With shaking fast hands he flipped several short pages until settling on one, and began reading with his fingers. Audrey leaned over to see if she could make out what he was looking at. Carnations?

 _ **Pink Carnations: carry the greatest significance, beginning with the belief that they first appeared on earth from the Virgin Mary's tears – making them the symbol of a mother's undying love.**_

Upon reading this he released a sigh that could've been mistaken for a laugh and covered his mouth with his palm. Audrey stared back in confusion.

"What's that all about, Seymour?"

He looked back but didn't respond, just smiled knowingly.

* * *

 _Credit to_ _theflowerexpert and teleflora for these definitions._


	4. Chapter 4: a mother's love

_**Author's note:**_ _I need to give the_ _**BIGGEST** shout out in the world to S. Snowflake for helping me with this chapter and keeping me sane through all this. Couldn't have done it without you._

* * *

 **Chapter Four:**

 **September 22 1940**

She didn't want to go home. She didn't know where she wanted to be but she didn't want to go home. Kicking her feet slightly, Alana started down the Skid Row sidewalk. Her stomach growled and her child moved impatiently. She patted her stomach thoughtfully.

 _I know sweetheart, me too._

Alana was fairly pretty, though nothing striking. She had a round face and pale blue eyes which nearly appeared grey. Her nose was rather large and would've seemed odd and out of place on any other face but suited her quite beautifully. Her hair was brown, just slightly above shoulder length and fell in natural curls without the need for pins or rollers. She liked very little about herself, but she didn't mind her curly hair.

She herself was an orphan of sorts. Her mother had run off with another man when she was just a child. All her life she hated that good for nothing deadbeat. She had promised herself she'd be a better mother than that woman ever was. Her father was the only thing which filled the void of loneliness in her life. He raised her by himself. It was a struggle to keep food in her mouth but he kept at it, determination and love never wavering. It was something she would always be thankful for. When she was 17 an illness finally took him from her. She knew she had to make her own living now but being a young single woman of the time she only had so many options. Desperate and near starving she applied for a job at "The Gutter" on her 18th birthday. She needed more means to survive though. That's where she began to accompany men. One of whom was Erik. He took a liking to her right away. At first it was just business transactions but then he started to shmooze. A few fancy dinners and a couple nice gifts was all it took and she was exclusively his. This affair lasted some time. Erik every so often would show his true colors and she would receive a bruise or two. Slowly it became harder to ignore and the excuse that she was just clumsy became less believable. She couldn't move on though. Who was she to judge? She knew he was married and that he wasn't the man of her dreams before she even got involved. If anything it was her own fault. She was a Skid Row orphan with a past, and couldn't wish for any better. She was trash, and she deserved to be treated as such. It was shortly after he had broken her wrist with a pair of handcuffs he lost interest and started showing up at her apartment less and less until not at all, and she was grateful. She wanted to run at that point. And run she would have, but that's when she found out she was expecting a baby. At first she kicked herself for being so stupid but came to love the little thing nudging inside her. She never really had a family since her father died. And now she had the chance. She had someone with her. She felt love, something she hadn't in a long time. She loved that child with all her heart, no matter who's it was.

Sighing she passed by the Skid Row Home for Boys. She passed it often on her commute and sometimes couldn't stand the sight of it. She ran one hand along the chain link fence and rested the other on her belly. The building wasn't anything special. The only significance it shared was the metal sign on the fence stating:

 **Skid Row Home for Boys**

 **Est…**

The rest was scratched off and painted over with crude graffiti. She wondered if it was someone on the outside or one of the boys who did that. There weren't any outside right now. It was the first chilly day of the season and they were probably all inside. All summer she had passed by and there would be boys playing in the yard. It wasn't much of a yard so to speak, but a couple of meters of concrete and grass between the building and the fence. She had very mixed feelings whenever she passed. Today she kept one hand firm on her belly as if the Home would swoop in and swallow her child.

 _Don't worry sweetheart. You're safe with me._

She kept walking and made it to her apartment a block away only to pass right by it. It was chilly outside but she wasn't ready to go in. There was nothing up there but loneliness and lingering dread. Suddenly she knew exactly where she wanted to be and started off in the opposite direction.

Plants. Alana had a soft side for plants. There weren't any good florists in Skid Row as of late, but she knew of a place in the wholesale flower district that she wanted to be. Several blocks later there it was, just under a blue and white striped awning. " **Chang's"** was written in black letters. There was a table just out front containing the strangest varieties, per the norm. Normally she loved the strange ones but today they made her slightly uneasy. She'd had nightmares lately. Some she couldn't explain or even remember much longer after waking up. Something about a plant swallowing her child. She shook her head. It was silly. What she really came for today was the flowers. They always made her feel better. A blush of pink among the green caught her eye and she was drawn to it. She ran her finger along the bouquet petals and smiled. Carnations. She loved carnations. They were so simple yet so beautiful, and by far her favorite flower. They weren't anything special like roses or lilies, and were often thrown into a bouquet only to be overshadowed by the other flowers. But still, she loved them. She imagined she'd grow them herself if she ever was lucky enough to have a house with a yard. Maybe in a window box outside the kitchen window. Something she could water while watching her child run and grow out in the yard. Far far from urban Skid Row. She sighed. Such a lovely dream.

"How much?" she asked the Asian man attending the stall.

"$0.25"

She turned her gaze back to the flowers and chewed on her lip. She knew she shouldn't. Even now her stomach was rumbling. But it was such a small price for a dream.

"Are you a mother?"

She looked up from the flowers to see the man surveying her with a warm smile.

"I'm… I'm sorry?"

He motioned his index finger at her swollen abdomen. Suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed she pulled her coat close.

"No… well yes. Technically. Soon I…" she stopped, catching herself babbling, and blushed.

"Carnations are special for mothers."

Her eyes lit with interest then she furrowed her brow, skeptic.

"Why is that?"

"Their color."

"Color?"

He nodded and moved toward her, "Yes. Their colors signify different traits. White is for luck…"

She smiled, _so not for me._

"Red is for romantic love…"

 _Wrong again._

He paused glancing down at the flowers still in Alana's grasp.

"And pink?" she asked.

His smile grew, "a mother's love."

Immediately she reached into her coat pocket to fish for coins.

"No. Ma'am, just take them."

She paused, but just for a moment before she pulled her fist out of her pocket.

"I couldn't do that. Here," she said extending her handful of pennies.

He closed her palm and pushed her hand back.

"They're a gift."

"But… but why?"

"I've seen you here before. You like plants."

She glanced down at her handful of change but he took a step away before she could attempt to pay again.

"Thank… thank you sir."

She turned her back keeping her eyes fixed on her bouquet. She wasn't used to this sort of kindness. A smile spread wide across her face.


	5. Chapter 5: it's been months

_**Author's note:** The events about how Seymour got his job mentioned here are from my story "Mushnik and Son". You don't have to have read it to understand though._

* * *

 **Chapter Five:**

 **May 8 1964**

Nothing today.

"Well, thanks anyway. See ya again," Seymour said nodding to the Asian man who attended the stall he so frequently visited.

Smiling he nodded back, "Goodbye Seymour."

Seymour shoved his hands in his pockets and started back to work at a brisk pace. In reality He only wanted to step out of the dusty shop for just a minute. He didn't mean to stray all the way to Chang's. His lunch break would be over soon and he didn't want to hear an earful from Mr. Mushnik. It wouldn't actually matter if he was a little late though. There was no business anyway, but that fact didn't matter. And if he was late it'd be his fault. Everything was Seymour's fault.

 _Wait, this isn't the right way._

Somewhere in his daydreaming he had taken a wrong turn and he was on an unfamiliar street. Seymour tried to make sense of it as he glanced up at the street signs and landmarks. Suddenly it struck him.

 _No, not here._

But there it was. He stopped completely, knowing that the hope he'd be back on time was pointless now. There it stood, The Home, same as the day he left it. He curled his fingers over the chain link and leaned in. There weren't any kids in the yard, and Seymour remembered it was lunchtime. He was suddenly brought back to his not so fond memories of lunchtime. _"Too slow Krelborn!"_ rang loud in his ears. He'd lost many of his lunches over the years. At least he was out now right?

Sighing he let go of the fence and continued on, but thoughts and memories of the home continued to play in his head. He still remembered the day he first left. On a whim he had taken off one summer afternoon when he was nine years old. After wandering lost in the city for hours he stumbled into a shop entranced by it's greenery. In his enjoyment he dropped a crystal vase shattering it on the floor. That was how he met Mr. Mushnik. Lacking the money to pay for it, Mr. Mushnik had Seymour work the remainder of the day in the shop. After he finished Seymour was found and brought back to the home but the thoughts and dreams of plants never left his mind. A year and a half later he took off again in an attempt to satisfy his need for green. After searching he found the shop again same as the day he worked there. It was that day that changed his destiny. Seymour witnessed Mr. Mushnik's sole employee swiping cash from the drawer and ratted him out in a rare act of bravery. After the day was done Seymour headed back to the home thinking that was the end of it. Fate had more in mind for him. About a week later Mr. Mushnik showed up at the home out of the blue and offered Seymour a job in the shop and even let him move into the basement. Startled but eager to start a new life for himself, the 11-year-old left the home he was born and raised in. At that time he was so sure he was free though soon the reality set in. He had just traded one prison for another.

He didn't notice but the closer he got to the shop the more he slowed down. Not that being on the street was much better. It was Skid Row after all. Suddenly he realized he was by himself, all alone in the world. He started life as an orphan, a child of the streets. His mother was dead and as far as he knew he'd never met his father. He didn't have any friends growing up at the home and was ignored and berated at by his boss and guardian. He wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. He hadn't known anywhere else so his imagination had to fill in the rest. Closing his eyes briefly he heard the cars. Except now they weren't cars. They were waves. He was at the south seas where they grow the most fabulous plants in the world. He felt the wind on his face and heard it run through his ears. Except it wasn't wind. He was flying in an airplane for the first time. He opened his eyes and caught sight of some loose grass and dandelions sprouting up from a crack in the sidewalk. Except it wasn't a sidewalk. It was a field. A green grassy field. He was off somewhere far far from urban skid row. Somewhere that's green. Oh what he wouldn't give for that one.

Reaching the outside of the shop he stopped himself completely and glanced up at it. At this point he'd spent more of his life working there than he hadn't. It was old and forgotten to the world. He wasn't ready to go back in. It was such a beautiful day. Slowly walking forward he saw movement past the glare of the front window. Audrey. She was stretching her arms high above her head and letting out a giant yawn, before settling back down and leaning her elbows on the counter. Suddenly he didn't feel so lonely after all. He had Audrey in his life. Seymour had never felt with anyone the way he felt with Audrey, and he could only describe this feeling as magic. So long as she was there all would be well. He smiled to himself feeling lighter than air before heading in.

Upon hearing the bell Audrey bolted upright and eyes illuminated with excitement.

"Seymour! Seymour!" She blurted before he could say anything, "This came for you!"

She motioned to a brown envelope resting on the counter, nearly bouncing on her toes from excitement. Seymour paused momentarily, taking off his hat. Moving forward he saw it sure enough,

 **Seymour Krelborn**

 **1313 Skid Row**

 **Manhattan NY**

He picked it up and turned it in his hands before opening. He never got mail. Who would it be from? He checked the return address.

 **New York state department of archives**

"But… it's been months," he whispered in a state of complete shock and disbelief.


	6. Chapter 6: green nightmares

**Chapter Six:**

 **September 22 1940**

 _Green. Never in her life had Alana seen such green. Rich grass grew as far as her eye could see. They had grass in the city but never this much, never this hue. She knew she must be somewhere she had never been before._

 _A short distance off she saw the figure of a small child, a little boy with curly brown hair. She'd never seen him before but her subconscious knew who he was. At the same time he recognized her and took off running in her direction._

" _Mama! Mama!" He called outstretching his arms._

 _Smiling she took off running to him as well, her heart racing with joy. Just a short distance away from him she heard the growl of an engine behind her. It was a sound she knew well._

" _Erik?!" she gasped spinning around. But he wasn't there. Nothing was there._

" _Mama! Help me!"_

 _Spinning back around she saw her child suddenly entangled by what looked like green tentacles coming up from the ground. One was holding each wrist and a thick one climbed up his body and holding a vice like grip on his neck. She sprinted as the sound of her child's screaming grew louder._

" _Mama! Mama! Help me!"_

 _He stretched out his arms as far as he was able, reaching out for her, feet unable to move. Reaching him she tried to grab hold of the ends of the vines as they writhed around._

" _Don't worry sweetheart. It's okay," she said, though gasping with fright._

 _Another vine reached out from behind him, wrapping around his chest, and pulled him away out of her grasp. Something she could only describe as a green shark head struck out of the ground cackling with laughter._

" _Mama!" He screamed one last time before the plant pulled him into its jaws. As fast as it had appeared it was gone, disappearing completely in the grass which returned as if nothing happened._

" _No!" she cried getting down on the ground and pounding the earth, "No! No! No!"_

 _It was too late. He was gone. The sound of the engine caused her to lift her head. A short ways off stood the plump blonde woman from this morning. Smirking she outstretched her arm pointing directly at Alana. The engine roared again and behind her emerged a motorcycle racing directly toward her, growing closer and closer._

She woke with a start. Grabbing her heart she tried to calm her breathing. It was a silly fear but it felt so real at the time. But she was back now. Back at her apartment where nothing could hurt her, right? Her apartment wasn't anything special, and she had very little to call her own. Lacking a vase she had placed her carnations in a tall glass and rested them on her table. She smiled at them now.

She pulled herself off the couch and ran her hand across the back of her neck. She didn't realize she had fallen asleep. Glancing out the window she saw the sun was just finishing setting. Suddenly she realized the reality of her dream.

He'd be home from work by now. His wife would be there waiting for him to tell him the events of the day. Alana hadn't given her name but she could easily be described. He'd know who she was, where to find her, and what she was carrying.

Placing both her hands in her face her staggered breathing returned and her heart began to race. She couldn't stay. She was a sitting duck. But she had nowhere to go. She had no friends. No one would help. Suddenly she remembered one.

" _Come by if you need anything. Any help at all."_

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone pounding, like thunder, on her door.


	7. Chapter 7: a tale to tell

**Chapter Seven:**

 **May 11 1952**

The sound of soft unsure knuckles tapped the door.

"What?" was hollered from the other side.

Seymour hesitated. _It's now or never_ he thought, slowly turning the handle.

The room was dark, lit only by the streetlights through the venetian blinds and a small lamp on the desk. There was a grey haze in the air as a result of the still burning cigarette in an ashtray on the desk. Mr. Stanley was at his desk, his elbow propped on the desktop and his forehead resting in his palm. A look of clear annoyance on his face, which didn't waver as he glanced up and saw who it was.

"Sir…" Seymour didn't know what to say. He closed the door behind him, and turned back around. He stood there wringing his hands, not knowing whether to sit down or ask questions first.

"It's your last night here Krelborn, ain't it?" he asked interrupting his thoughts.

Seymour smiled and nodded. The week had been a whirlwind since Mr. Mushnik's sudden arrival. Seymour was still in disbelief about leaving. He figured he'd spend his whole life in this little dump of a Home, as opposed to before he even finished 5th grade. However, the thing that startled him more was the information he had been given about his parents, no matter how brief. Over the past few days he had desperately been trying to get Mr. Stanley's attention to ask more but he was never in the mood to be asked and Seymour knew better. However he had now run out of time. It was his last night and if he ever wanted to find anything out it had to be tonight.

"You should be grateful. Gravis isn't the kind of man to run a charity."

"I am truly grateful sir," his eyes fell to the floor.

Mr. Stanley didn't say anything after this, but continued to shuffle papers around on his desktop. After a moment he glanced up realizing Seymour was still there.

"What?" he asked, clearly irritated.

Nearly shaking, Seymour moved closer to him. He hovered next the the chairs but didn't bring himself to sit down. _Now! Do it now, idiot!_

"Sir, the other day you said it wasn't the time, and I figured since I'm leaving in the morning…" he trailed off. He'd never been courageous and it was obvious.

"Huh?"

Seymour chewed his lip momentarily and continued to wring his hands. "I'd like to learn about my parents, sir."

Mr. Stanley thought for a beat before exhaling sharply and moving his palm over his eyes. He motioned his other hand to the chair not looking up. Seymour sat himself down.

"You said you knew my mother?"

"Yeah, in a way, I did," he said, his eyes still hidden by his palm.

"How?"

He moved his hand down and straightened his neck. "Don't push your luck kid."

Seymour's eyes fell to his lap. He tried to think back to the list of questions he had mentally made earlier.

"What was she like?"

When he didn't immediately respond Seymour looked up. All the annoyance had left Mr. Stanley's face. He wasn't looking at Seymour. Instead he gazed just past his shoulder with a look of somber melancholy.

"Sad," was all he replied.

Seymour considered this, not knowing fully what he meant. He looked at Mr. Stanley and for the first time in his life he began to wonder more about him. Stanley was the only guardian he'd had all his life, or at least as long as he could remember. He wasn't mean, at least compared to some of the others, and at this point Seymour was used to it. The other guardians had come and gone all throughout the 1940's for obvious reasons, but he stayed back. Seymour was too young to remember life before the war, however he knew it had taken its toll on the world and the people in it. Briefly he wondered what Stanley was like before the war. Was he always this mean or was he different? And how much of his anger and teasing was a facade?

"Sir?" he asked.

Stanley slowly moved his eyes to Seymour's face but didn't change his expression.

"Umm… Do you have a picture?"

Mr. Stanley came back to reality at this point and rolled his eyes. "No kid, I don't have a picture."

Seymour's gaze moved back to his lap, embarrassed. "Well what did she look like?"

Mr. Stanley looked at Seymour. He had a round face and a mess of brown curly hair. He wore glasses too, a pair he had fished out of the garbage and were held together by tape and just a little too big. But behind them he had grey blue eyes.

"Like you," Mr. Stanley replied with an unusual sense of warmth.

Seymour's eyes shot back up.

"Really?"

A faint smile formed in the corner of Stanley's mouth. Seymour considered this, smiling and blushing, before he returned to his questions.

"And… she came here?"

He nodded.

"What happened?"

Mr. Stanley paused before he rose from his chair. Crossing the room to the window he looked out past his venetian blinds onto the street. He didn't want to answer, but figured he owed this much to Alana. Her kid should know eventually.

"She stumbled in one night, looking like hell. Open cut on her head, bruises in every shade. Looked like someone really got to her."

Seymour bit his lip and held back tears. He continued to fumble impatiently with his hands. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he replied still looking onto the street, "I asked and all she said was 'he found out'."

Behind him Seymour let out a soft sob. He didn't know exactly what this meant, but he had ideas. He didn't want to ask any more, knowing none of it would be good news, but the questions burned inside him.

"Was it…" he trailed off. Putting his face in his hands he started to bawl. Mr. Stanley turned around at this and looked at the poor child. He returned to his desk and extended a handkerchief from a drawer. Stunned, Seymour glanced at it. He had never been shown this element of kindness from him before. Smiling behind his tears he took it and wiped his face. After several deep breaths he was ready to continue.

"Do you know who my father is?"

Mr. Stanley didn't respond right away, pondering whether or not he should tell the truth.

"No," he answered finally.

Seymour glanced down at the handkerchief clutched in his hand. It was covered with dark stains.

"And I don't have any brothers or sisters?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Seymour felt the need to ask anyway.

"No," he lied again.

"So… that's it then," he whispered mostly to himself.

"Here," Mr. Stanley rose from his swivel chair and crossed to his filing cabinet. It stuck at first but after a few tugs the drawer screeched open. He fished in for Seymour's folder and pulled it out. "Here you can have this now." he said nearly dropping it in his lap. Seymour looked up at him wide eyed.

"We have no more use for it now that you're leaving, so there. Take it, happy mothers day," he replied uncomfortably. He stroked his scalp and paced the room. Seymour looked down at his folder. He didn't want to open it. He knew what was inside. Reluctantly he peeled it open. He flipped past his birth certificate and his mother's death certificate. Inside there was an envelope which had gone unnoticed at first. A white envelope, the kind that contained letters. With shaking hands Seymour lifted it up to examine it. There was no writing on it and it wasn't sealed. Slowly he lifted the flap and it's contents spilled out onto his lap. A pressed flower without a stem. He picked it up to examine it. It was a carnation, that much he could tell. It was brown with age and was falling apart at the touch of his fingers. After close examination he recognized a small outline of color on the edges of each outer petal. Pink. The flower had once been pink.

"That was hers," Stanley said stopping his pacing upon seeing the flower, "does it mean anything to you?"

Frowning Seymour shook his head.

"I didn't think so."

Mr. Stanley sat himself back down at his desk and quickly returned to his papers as if nothing had stopped him in the first place. Seymour slipped the carnation back in the envelope and sealed it back in the folder for safe keeping. Closing the manila folder he held it close to his chest and sighed.

"Sir, may I ask... one more question?"

Stanley nodded without looking up from his paper. Though Seymour said nothing. After a few seconds Stanley raised his head. Seymour wasn't looking at him. He was staring off, tears pouring out of his eyes again. He was chewing on the inside of his mouth as if he was choking on the words themselves as they refused to come out.

"Yes Krelborn, what is it?" Stanley asked as sweetly as he was able.

Seymour looked down at his lap and then back up again.

"Did she… did she want me?"

Tears were flowing down Seymour's face before he could even answer and his face scrunched up as he cried. Stanley didn't have to lie about this.

"Yes Seymour, she did."

Seymour immediately stopped and stared.

"Really?" he breathed barely above a whisper.

Stanley smiled and nodded.

Seymour's tears continued to flow as he held his folder tighter and a wide smile spread on his face.

"Thank you sir," he said rising from his seat and wiping his eyes one last time before placing the handkerchief on the desktop.

Mr. Stanley nodded in response and pulled one of his forms closer and started writing. Seymour kept his eyes down at the folder still clutched against his chest as he turned to leave.

"Hey kid," Seymour spun around, "Do me a favor. When you get your first paycheck go buy yourself a pair of real glasses."

Seymour smiled uncomfortably and nodded.

"Thank you sir," he said again.

Mr. Stanley glanced up at him shortly before looking back down. With the folder still clutched hard against his chest, Seymour closed the door behind him.


	8. Chapter 8: I can help

**Chapter Eight:**

 **April 25 1940**

"What are you doing out here?"

It wasn't an act of concern or a scolding, but merely a jest.

Alana raised her head. Her dark makeup was running down her face almost resembling the bruises she'd used to cover up.

"Why aren't you inside? Aren't you up next?" he asked.

 _Because my costume isn't fitting right and wont for very much longer!_ She wanted to scream. Instead she half smiled, trying unsuccessfully to hide the fact she had just been crying.

"Just… getting some air."

She nonchalantly leaned her shoulder on the brick building and clicked her heels on the city sidewalk.

The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes.

"Yeah me too," he said motioning the box to her.

She shook her head in response and he pulled one for himself. She'd seen him before. He was a client, and as she recalled, slightly less rotten than the rest. He leaned his shoulder on the wall next to her, uncomfortably close, and she moved her eyes away. Leaning over he brushed her hair behind her ear and she shuttered. Her tears had stopped but she still felt rotten. He continued to brush her hair out of her face before he grabbed her chin and moved his mouth to her cheek.

"No," she said stepping away.

He rolled his eyes and reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.

"No! I don't do that anymore."

He looked up at her in playful disbelief and nearly scoffed. Ignoring her he stepped forward and grabbed the sides of her face and she pulled away.

"Stop! I can't! I'm pregnant!" she screamed.

He stared back at her unmoving. She broke down again, tears spilled out of her eyes and her lip quivered. She pressed her back against the brick and slid herself down to the ground. Crouching she put her face in her hands.

"Ah fuck," he replied.

She looked up at him with teary eyes, amazed to see him smiling.

"It's not mine is it?" he asked.

It took her a second to realize he was joking and to both of their surprise she let out a small laugh.

"No," she said glancing down briefly then back up with a small smile, "And it wouldn't be! How long has it been? Two years?"

This was a sense of coolness she didn't realize she still possessed.

He shrugged. "Just making sure."

He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. What an unusual response this was, and she found it oddly comforting. He wasn't angry with her that he wasn't getting lucky. He wasn't hitting her either. He was making jokes. Alana couldn't remember the last time she laughed. She smiled up at him.

"Who's the lucky guy?" he asked exhaling smoke.

He might've just been trying to make conversation, but it hurt nonetheless. She turned her face to the ground, eyes tearing up again, and shuttered at the recollection.

He took another drag. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

She smiled and shook her head. "It's okay."

The night was dark. Only the streetlights and the end of his cigarette provided their light. The weather was taking a brief pause from its constant rain, which sat in brown puddles in dips in the concrete. Although it was spring, it was still April, and the night was chilly enough to tinge both the ends of their ears and noses pink.

"What're ya gonna do?"

She stared up at him. What was it to him? What did he care? But more importantly, why was he even interested? She didn't answer but stood back up and continued to stare at him. He looked back continuing drags of his cigarette.

"Why?" she finally whispered.

He tapped on his cigarette knocking the ashes off. "Well, I work for a place that helps people. Women in… similar situations."

"Oh," she gasped placing her hand on her abdomen and backing up a pace.

"Ah Jesus not like that!" he said with a hint of annoyance, "It's an orphanage."

"Oh."

She had considered this option before in the very beginning. All her "friends" at The Gutter were eager to tell her exactly what to do. However, she alone knew what she wanted.

"I don't think I could…" she trailed off.

"Look," he said dropping his cigarette butt and reaching for another, "Just consider it, alright. And I'm there all the time. Come by for help, even if you decide to keep him."

"Him?"

He placed his fresh cigarette between his lips and continued to talk out of the corner of his mouth as he lit a match.

"Well it's a boy's home. I dunno I just assumed you were having a boy. I'd figure something out for you otherwise."

She smiled at the idea of having a boy.

"Well thank you, but I am keeping him."

His match went out before reaching his cigarette and he dropped it on the sidewalk. Slightly stunned he looked up at her.

"You don't have to be a hero ya know."

She'd heard this before.

"I'm not. I know I'm not. Trust me," she chewed on her lip before saying anything else. It was nice to have someone, anyone, to talk to and actually listen. Even a former client with an odd sense of humor.

"The little guy hasn't even started kicking yet. But he's mine and… and I love him. I'm not used to… It's been so long… I'd forgotten. I love him, that's all." She stopped realizing her babbling had turned back into sobs.

He took his unlit cigarette out of his mouth and stuck it back in his pocket, exchanging it for a handkerchief which he immediately held out to her. She sat stunned before taking it. No man had ever shown her this element of kindness. Taking it in her hand she rubbed it on her tear streaked face staining it with her black makeup. The man couldn't help but stare. She wasn't the first young girl he had seen in this situation. But she was the first one to show this much caring and heart.

"Lucky kid," He said smiling, "Just… consider it, alright? And like I said, come by if you need anything. Any help at all."

She lifted her face and looked him in the eye.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because I like you," he stated as if it was obvious.

She turned her face to the ground again smiling, thankful that the night hid her blushing.

"Well, thank you," she whispered, "and I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

He let out a laugh, "That bad, was I?"

Her blush turned and deep scarlet. She hid her smile in her jacket collar.

"Stanley."

She looked back up, "I'm Alana."

He smiled and nodded, remembering.

An awkward silence followed before he spoke.

"Can I ask you just one more thing Alana?"

She didn't answer but looked him in the face.

"This kid's dad… are you gonna tell him?"

She turned her face away and suddenly felt guilty realizing she had spent too much time outside.

"No," she said handing back the handkerchief and starting for the door back in. He followed her. She grabbed the handle and sighed deeply before pushing it open.

Without looking back at him she whispered, "He'd kill me."


	9. Chapter 9: I'm alive

_**Author's**_ _ **note:**_ _We have reached the events in the original story "I started life as an orphan" by Nixxie-the-lizard. They go more in depth about the events that transpire than I will. Again, it's not necessary to have read it but now would be an alright time to go do so if you like (it's pretty good)_

* * *

 **Chapter Nine:**

 **WARNING: Violence**

Reality is in normal font _in her head is in italics_

 **September 22 1940**

 _I'm alive_ , Alana thought a few hours later as she came to. She peeled her eyes open and saw the room spinning.

 _I'm alive,_ she thought again, _no,_ _surely that's a mistake. He wouldn't have left me alive on purpose._

She was laying on her living room floor sprayed out on her back, a hand clutching her belly. The color of the room wasn't right. Flashing different blobs of dark and red. Her head hurt badly. Slowly, and like a dream, things came back and echoed in her mind. Events, memories, nightmares.

 _Don't move, she thought as the pounding continued on her door. He doesn't know for sure you're in here. Maybe he'll go away. Just don't move. Don't breathe. Don't make a sound._

 _Nonetheless the pounding continued. She was thankful she had taken to time to lock the chain on the door upon coming home earlier. It sounded like he was going at it with both hands swapping occasionally for his feet. Alana was surprised the door held up like it did. She knew first hand how rough he could be._

 _And just like that it was over. All noises ceased, even the sound of him grunting on the other side. Alana raised her head from the crouching position she was in._

 _Just like that?_

 _After several long moments of silence she slowly moved forward, careful with each footstep as it creaked the floorboards. Still she heard nothing. Had he given up? Was he hiding? Did he go? She reached her door and stood about a foot off staring at it. She didn't have a peephole and couldn't see anything. Hesitantly she pressed her ear to the door. She heard nothing. Not even breathing aside from her own._

 _Is that it?_

 _Still, she heard nothing. Surely he would've made a sound by now._

 _Maybe… I should see for myself?_

 _Slowly she lifted the chain to unlock it. No sooner had it fallen from its place had the door flung open and he had her by the neck._

She took a gasping breath before steadying her breathing and felt her heart pounding hard in her chest. She lollied her head to the side and examined the room. All the furniture had moved. Either thrown across the floor or knocked over. Just out of her reach she caught a glimpse of pink splattered on the floor amongst shards of glass. The carnations. She silently began to weep and reached out for one. Cringing she whipped her wrist back sucking in air through her teeth.

" _Handcuffs?" she asked backing up a pace and tugging on the sleeves of her costume from The Gutter, "I don't know Erik. I think…"_

 _Ignoring her wishes he grabbed her wrist and slapped one end on. He brought his hand to the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her hair, and pushed her lips into his. It wasn't a kiss. It was loveless and rough. Whether he wanted to kiss her or just shut her up she couldn't tell. She felt teeth, too rough, but she wasn't about to say anything. Pulling his head back he snaked his arm around her slim body and slammed her against him. She couldn't get away if she tried. Nervous, she glanced at her wrist._

" _But what is it for?" she asked._

 _He didn't answer but tugged on the open end pulling her with him. Reluctantly Alana followed. She kept her eyes fixed on his face. Something had changed. No. It had always been that way and she'd never noticed, or had been afraid to. Still she obliged. Best to keep him happy._

She cupped her hand around her wrist. It wasn't broken. She had imagined it.

" _Couldn't keep your legs closed, could ya?"_

Alana flinched. No. No she wasn't really here. She wouldn't be.

She glanced back at the flowers. It was just out of reach and she rolled onto her side before gripping one with the tips of her fingers.

" _Close your eyes sweetheart," her father whispered from behind her._

 _Alana sat impatiently at the kitchen table swinging her legs, still too short to reach the floor. There wouldn't be cake, they couldn't afford it. She didn't expect much for presents either, she never did. Smiling she brought her hands to her face and squeezed her eyes shut._

" _Happy birthday Alana!"_

 _She knew what it was before she even opened her eyes. She smelt the sweet perfume, a big contrast to the normal smells on Skid Row. Although they were near starving her father had tried to satisfy his daughter's love for plants. He had found the cheapest flower he could aside from dandelions._

 _Alana pulled her hands away and her face lit up._

" _Carnations!"_

She pulled it close to her face and fumbled with it while smiling through her tears. She continued to run her thumb over the flower petals.

" _Stupid woman!"_

 _SLAP_

" _Erik that hurt!" She exclaimed bringing one shaking hand to her cheek and gripping her swollen abdomen with the other. "It's not my fault!"_

 _He snorted. "Of course it's not!" He said sarcastically._

 _He gripped the hair on the back of her head and pulled her even closer._

" _Everything's your fault," he snarled raising his hand again._

 _SLAP_

Her head hurt something awful. The side of her temple felt warm and she reached her hand for it. Her hair was sticky on her forehead, pasted on with the blood of an open gash. His boot. One last attempt of his before heading out. It ran deep in her head. She felt a drop travel like a tear from her hairline and dripped onto the floor beneath her. Slow and deep, as if from a dream, she heard a cackle. She opened her eyes again. It wasn't Erik, it was too deep. She heard it again.

" _Must be blood."_

"W-what?" she breathed trying to focus but her vision was still fuzzy.

" _Must be fresh."_

"Who's there?"

Her eyes raced around the room. Yet she saw no one.

She craned her neck backward and her eye met the corner of a table.

" _PLEASE!" she screamed._

 _Erik threw her hard out of his grasp and she stumbled to the floor, falling on her hands. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as she was able and took off running. Even under different circumstances he would've been faster. Reaching out he gripped at her roughly causing her to fall. Clutching her belly and spinning she hooked the back of her head on the corner of the table, knocking her out cold. She hit the ground with a thud._

But now, he was gone. Alana lay there bleeding and bruised on her apartment floor left for dead. He must've thought she was with all the damage he had inflicted. But she was alive somehow. Alana brought her hand to the back of her head where she had impacted the table. A gash, smaller than the other, but still bleeding.

" _Feed me!"_

She grabbed at her neck, suddenly unable to breath. But nothing was there. Only the bruises left by his fingerprints. Though just a moment ago she could've sworn something was choking her. Something long and rough like a vine.

She turned her eye back to the carnation still in her palm. That's when she felt it.

Something was wrong. She rolled into her belly grasping it hard. It felt like a cramp but it couldn't be. It wasn't at all like before.

 _Flutters. Tiny flutters like the wings of a butterfly. But it wasn't a butterfly. It was a person. A baby. Her baby._

 _Walking the length of the city she continued to bask in the spring air, unconsciously running her hand on her belly. Having just started to feel movement it was all so real now. She should be afraid but she wasn't. Not yet at least. She had a family now._

" _If you're a girl I think I'll name you after a plant. A Rose or a Violet maybe."_

 _She smiled._

" _For a boy I don't know. Maybe Bud, because you are my little flower."_

 _Alana glanced down at her bump, just beginning to show._

" _Either way, you are my sweetheart."_

She felt it again and let out a grunt in pain. Something was very wrong. After several attempts she was able to roll onto her hands and knees. She paused there feeling the need to vomit but instead let out a cry. After a moment she took several deep breaths and got on her knees. Pushing her palms on the table she was able to pull herself the rest of the way up. She felt it again and toppled over, gripping the table with one hand and her abdomen with the other. She couldn't stay. Something was wrong and she needed help.

" _Come by if you need anything. Any help at all."_

Still clutching her belly she staggered toward the door, grabbing her coat on the way out.


	10. Chapter 10: Is this home?

_**Author's note:** Just gonna quickly say if you've made it this far you rock and I love you._

 _I am dying to know what you think though so PLEASE comment._

* * *

 **Chapter Ten:**

 **May 12 1952**

 _This is it,_ Seymour thought pushing open the front door and stepping out into the spring morning.

He wasn't receiving a big send off. It was 7:00 and most of the boys were still sleeping. Mr. Mushnik wasn't picking him up either. Why would he? Seymour was leaving early so he'd have enough time to walk himself down to the shop before opening that morning. The first of many mornings he'd help Mr. Mushnik open.

He took several paces out the front door and looked back up at the building which had housed him for nearly 12 years. The place his mother died. The place he was cradled and rocked as a baby. The place he was constantly punched and taunted by other boys. The place which kept food in his belly. He didn't know whether to salute or spit.

He turned his back again and started for the chain link fence. A border that had served as a prison in the past now was his gateway to his new life.

Several more paces he glanced up again. Smiling, Seymour waved with one hand and unhooked the latch with the other. Immediately he was transported to the harsh reality of a New York street. He'd seen it before every day and even walked out on it a few times, but this seemed different. It was noisy and dirty. There were people bustling about, strangers he didn't know. It wasn't like his fantasy of leaving. He found himself all alone.

 _Is this home?_

 _Is this what I must learn to believe in?_

 _Try to find something good in this tragic place,_

 _just in case I should stay here forever held in this empty space._

He shook his head and scowled. _You're being ungrateful Seymour. What else could you wish for? It's not like you could have a family..._

He was interrupted by the growl of an engine off somewhere in the distance. It was growing louder. With both his hands he covered his ears and looked for its source. Not too far down the road he saw a leather clad young man on a motorcycle. Entranced he took a step off the sidewalk for a better look. Then another. He had grown far too close.

"WATCH IT!" he shouted just barely missing Seymour.

Startled, Seymour took several steps back and hooked his heel on the curb, falling backwards down on the sidewalk. He sat there startled for a moment and climbed up, dusting himself off.

Seymour smiled. This street and this city was his new life. This is where he should learn to be happy. He turned around and looked one more time up at the Home, illuminated in the morning sun, and turned his back for good.

* * *

 _Credit to Alan Menkin, Howard Ashman, Tim Rice, and Beauty and the Beast for the lyrics from "Home"_


	11. Chapter 11: will they be alright?

_**Author's note:** Happy Little Shop Day and Birthday Seymour 9-23-18_

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven:**

 _ **On the 23rd day of the month of September in an early year of a decade not too long before our own, the human race suddenly encountered a deadly threat to it's very existence. And this terrifying enemy surfaced, as such enemies often do, in the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places...**_

 **September 23 1940**

The home looked different in the moonlight. It gave off a haunted feeling, though it may just have been the cool autumn night. The home was backlit by the moon casting haunting shadows across the yard. Alana curled her fingers along the chainlink and pushed the gate open with as much effort as she could. It screeched open and, thankfully, wasn't locked. She took one step in, then another, then she felt it again. With both hands she grabbed her belly trying her best not to topple over.

"Help!" she screeched as loud as she could.

The night remained still as she heard her echo. Nothing moved for several long moments until up high she saw a flash. One of the topmost windows illuminated and a silhouette of a person appeared, only to quickly vanish.

Alana got on her hands and knees. The world was spinning. She felt stupid for not treating her head before leaving. A drop ran from her hairline down her temple and nose until finally pooling at her lip. She heard it again.

" _Feed me!"_

"Help!" she whimpered, though not much above a whisper.

"Dear me!" a woman cried swinging open the front door and running out into the night. Another woman behind her lit the front light before following. The first was at Alana in a moment and squatted down to her level. Gingerly she placed her hand on her shoulder as if to ask if she was alright. Slowly Alana raised her head and the woman gasped at the sight of her mangled face.

"Oh my dear!" she cried. She grabbed Alana's arm and pulled her onto her knees. "Your face dear! Quick, come inside!"

The other woman was at her side and grabbed Alana's hand. She immediately yanked away and placed it on her belly, which until now had gone unnoticed by them.

"No no no," Alana cried trying her best not to topple over again.

The shorter of the two gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. "What do we do?" she asked lowering her hands to her heart.

"Bring her inside," barked the other pulling Alana to her feet. She felt faint and tottled slightly on her feet.

"Stanley!" she breathed, "I need… Stanley!"

"ALANA?!"

Her eyes fluttered before opening. The room was so bright and it took a moment to adjust. Above her she saw a water stained white ceiling with crown molding and walls the color of clam chowder. Craning her neck she realized she was surrounded. Though one face she recognized and she reached out.

"Stanley," she breathed. He swiftly moved across the room and grabbed her hands. A small smile spread on her lips.

Looking around Alana saw four other people. There were the two women from outside, one with grey hair one with white hair. There was another woman with dark hair and a pressed white jumper over a dark blue blouse. A nurse no doubt. She was just to her left blotting her forehead. There was also a well dressed man she presumed to be a doctor. The dark haired nurse was just finishing taping up the gash in her head and turned away with the soiled gauze. Blood. Alana didn't realize there had been so much blood.

" _Feed me!"_

She brought her hand up to her bandaged wound and squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to stop.

Opening her eyes she saw the blurry figure of the doctor move toward her. Her vision was still fuzzy. His mouth was moving as if he was saying something to her but she wasn't catching it. She shook her head as little as possible and twitched the corner of her mouth to indicate confusion. He frowned and moved to the foot of her bed. He lifted her skirt just enough to place his hands on her abdomen. Her skin was hot to the touch. He furrowed his brow and kept his hand in the same place before looking back up at her with a somewhat hopeful look.

"No… no… it can't. I'm only 34 weeks."

His expression fell and his eyes moved back down at her abdomen.

"Stanley whats wrong? Is he okay?" she gasped looking around for Stanley.

"Shhhh," Stanley said patting her shoulder, "It's fine, everything's fine," he lied.

Overcome with sudden pain, Alana let out a scream. The doctor swore and motioned for the dark haired nurse, who came over running. Alana's head fell limp against her neck and she fell backward onto a rough pillow.

"Alana?"

She squeezed her eyes shut as her chest heaved up and down with her heavy breathing. Eyes still shut she heard their voices, but as if they were far away.

"Alana stay with us!"

"Breathe dear, just breathe."

"Maybe we should get her some water?"

"Jesus Christ! Who did this to her?"

Alana felt a cool rag being placed on her forehead and gasped awake. The white haired woman jumped back dropping the rag on the floor with a splat. She bent down to pick it up, and dusted it off on her skirt before blotting Alana's face. Alana tried to read her expression. It was clear she was trying to seem warm and friendly but fear was in her eyes.

"B…baby…" Alana breathed.

"Shhhhh. It's fine dear. Everything is going fine."

Alana moved her gaze to the doctor at the foot of her bed. She couldn't see what he was doing but he wasn't hiding his fear as well.

 _Is my baby going to die?_

Both the doctor and the dark haired nurse looked up at her startled, and she realized she must've said that out loud.

"No no no!" The nurse exclaimed, waving her hand and forging a smile, "Everything's fine!"

She wasn't convinced. A tear welled in her eye as she screamed out in pain at another contraction. She knew well they were lying to her by the panic that filled the room with every scream and every grunt.

" _Stupid woman! Christ what a freakin scatterbrain!"_

He was in her head, so loud she brought her hands to her ears.

" _Everything is your fault!"_

"My fault! My fault!" she cried.

The room was startled by this sudden outburst. It was Stanley who finally said something. He knelt down beside her. Leaning in close he brought his hand to her cheek. Very gingerly he touched her, careful and almost afraid of inflicting more damage.

"Alana, Alana just breathe alright? You're fine."

She closed her eyes and gripped his hand on her cheek tightly.

"I've done terrible things!"

Stanley turned his head and looked at the doctor. He didn't seem concerned with her delirious rambling and stayed fixed on dealing with her contractions, now coming closer and closer together.

"What'a ya mean?" Stanley asked, leaning in more.

She opened her eyes and her lip quivered but she otherwise said nothing.

"Alana what happened to you?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry again. Her crying quickly changed back to screaming. She kept her eyes closed but heard the doctor swearing.

"Alana… did he do this to you?"

"He found out!" She cried.

The doctor leaned back closed his eyes. He ran his thumb and index finger over his lids. Startled by his hopeless expression she looked back at Stanley.

"He found out," she repeated.

Weakly, the doctor motioned Stanley and the dark haired nurse over to the far end of the room out of earshot. Alana craned her neck and tried to read his lips. Something he said made Stanley's face fall into a look of despair. The dark haired nurse grabbed her heart and glanced back at her briefly.

 _What is it?_

Stanley asked something but the doctor just shook his head. He leaned in close to the dark haired nurse and she shot a glance at Alana before exiting the room. She returned a moment later with a thick sheet of paper.

"Alana, is it?" she asked moving to her bedside and forcing a false warm smile on her face.

Alana's eyes remained half open as she nodded ever so slightly.

"Alana I want to ask you some questions if that's alright."

As she spoke Alana was being poked and prodded.

"What's your last name, dear?" she asked.

She grunted in pain before replying, "Krelborn."

The woman was scribbling on the sheet of paper.

"K-r-e-l-b-o-r-n?" she asked not glancing up from the paper.

She nodded.

"And how old are you?"

She had to think for a moment, "T… twenty."

The nurse gave a sad look before she wrote it down.

"What's the father's name?"

"What?"

"Your baby, what's the father's name?"

Alana's eyes darted around the room before landing on Stanley's face.

"No!" she screeched.

"Alana please, this is important," he sighed moving closer to her.

Alana began hyperventilating and let out a great cry. The doctor was moving quickly at the foot of her bed.

"Alana… please…." Stanley said moving his hand to her shoulder.

Tears had begun spilling down her cheeks. As much as it pained her she obliged.

"It's Erik!" she exclaimed, though her voice so faint it was barely above a whisper.

"Erik Scrivello," she slurred moving her face to the nurse.

"Did you catch that?" Stanley asked the nurse with a questioning look. She shrugged and sighed in response as her pen continued to scribble.

"And what's your baby's name?"

"What?" she asked, finding her voice at last.

She ran her hand over her abdomen. Her baby wasn't even out yet. Why on earth would they be asking these questions now? Suddenly she realized they knew something she didn't. She probably wasn't going to make it, or at least one of them wouldn't.

"No! No!" She shouted turning her head back to Stanley, "Not yet!"

Stanley glanced at the nurse who sighed sadly before retreating with the paper.

Overcome with a range of emotion Alana's mind drifted toward that child. That awful child she had met yesterday, with his greasy black hair and leather jacket, burning the ants. Her own child's brother. If she were to not make it, would that be their future? And if Erik ever found out she had lived just long enough...

If it was true that only one of them would make it, she knew exactly which one she wanted it to be.

"Stanley," Alana whispered gripping his hand hard on her shoulder. "You can't let him hurt them."

"What?"

She turned her head to her abdomen and ran her hand over it smiling very weakly. So much love was in her eyes. Stanley's eyes traced her hand before moving back to her face where he saw violet bruises along her neck in the placement of fingerprints. He stared at her with a face full of defeat. Ever so slightly he nodded and pat her shoulder before leaving. She didn't want him to go. She felt his touch being quickly replaced by another hand. She closed her eyes and rolled her neck before glancing up, where she met a face she hadn't seen in quite some time. A middle aged man with bright blue eyes behind a pair of round spectacles and a mess of brown curls, like her own.

 _Dad?_ She thought.

He smiled.

About the room people were shouting orders at each other. Every once in a while they would shout something at Alana who would grunt or scream out in pain in response. All the while she kept her eyes fixed on her father's face, unconscious of the passing time. Suddenly it became unbearable. Screaming out in pain a haze began to cloud her vision.

 _Oh why dad? Why couldn't I have been a better mother?_

Her father didn't respond, but continued to smile down at her.

"Here it comes!" she heard someone shout.

 _Will they be alright, dad? Will my baby be alright?_

Her father, still smiling, gave the slightest of nods before the sounds of a baby's cry filled the room. It was so faint she was sure it was only in her head. However, it was followed by gasps and sighs of reliefs from all the others.

"It's a boy!" she heard one of the women shout.

 _A boy! Dad, I have a son!_

Her father beamed with pride. She knew exactly what to name her child, after a great man and even better father.

"S… Seymour," she breathed, "Seymour Krelborn."

Her father smiled and extended his hands out to her as the room suddenly grew much brighter.

"Alana?!"

Stanley was snapping his fingers in front of her face in an attempt to get her to flinch as the light faded from her eyes.

All the attention that had been given to the baby now turned back to her as they bustled about in an attempt to help, but it was all for not. Her heart had stopped forever.

"Ah Christ," stated the doctor dropping her wrist. A sad look spread across his face.

"And you knew her?" one of the women asked Stanley.

"Sort of," his eyes didn't leave Alana's face, now drained of life, "She… she used to work at The Gutter."

"Oh the poor dear," replied one of the women leaning over to brush Alana's hair out of her eyes.

All the while the infant cried. Had he known what had happened he would've cried harder. One of the women had him wrapped in a dirty blanket and was bouncing him slightly shushing him.

"Same old story," Stanley sighed to himself, lifting her left hand, "no ring."

In doing so he discovered the pink carnation still clutched in her palm, and pulled it out to examine it.

The doctor crossed the room and retrieved the document that had earlier been scribbled on.

"Well, should we find this Erik? Give him his son?"

Stanley glanced at Alana's mangled face, "Don't bother. If he's who I suspect then he's better off staying here." He watched as the nurse leaned over and pulled the sheet over her head. "Trust me."

The room fell silent for a moment. Even the baby's crying had ceased as he continued to bounce. Voices in hushed whispers surrounded him.

"Well should we find out if she had any family?"

"A women who works at 'The Gutter' wouldn't have a family."

"Regardless."

"Poor girl, she was such a pretty young thing."

"What do we do?"

"Keep him here."

"He's so small, do you think he'll even live?"

"Who knows?"

"We need to find somewhere for him to sleep for tonight."

"I'm sure we'll find room somewhere."

"Ellen."

The elderly women moved her gaze from the baby's face to Stanley's.

"Take him upstairs for now. We'll figure the rest out later."

She nodded before turning around. After taking a step she pivoted on her heel back around.

"What was it she called him?" she asked.

Stanley fumbled with the carnation with his fingers before handing it over to her.

"Seymour Krelborn."

Ellen received the flower and tucked it in the blanket with the child who almost seemed to grab it.

"Welcome to the world Seymour."


	12. Chapter 12: Proud of your boy

**Chapter Twelve:**

 **May 10 1964**

Seymour shuttered at the thought of how often he passed this spot not knowing it's significance. A quick trip to the store, going to eat at Shmedrick's, or even a simple stroll. She'd been here the whole time.

The gate was rusty and nearly falling off its hinges. It made an eerie screech as he pushed it open. None of the graves were fancy or contained much more than a date or a name, but they were all once people with families too. He silently let go of the gate and began down one row surveying all the while. There was garbage and debris everywhere. Nothing nice ever belonged on Skid Row. After several passes through rows he found it. It was just as small as all the others and bore no outstanding traits. It made no difference to anyone, but it did to him. Getting down on his knees he traced the writing with his hands.

 **Alana Floretta Krelborn**

 **April 4 1920 - September 23 1940**

He remembered the flowers and placed them at the base. The pink carnations shined so vibrantly against the grey stone and grass that wasn't quite green. He relaxed and sat down crossing his legs and facing the grave.

 _Hi ma,_ he thought, _Uhh, Happy Mother's day. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to visit, I didn't know where to find you. I'm Seymour by the way, but you knew that already. I would've really liked to have met you. I've always wondered what you were like._

His eyes trailed to the flowers leaning against the grave.

 _I bet you liked plants! I found the carnation you were holding when… I like plants too! It's my job actually. I work down at Mushnik's Skid Row Florist. I like the flowers a lot but I have a real liking to the weird plants. I have a collection, you should see it. And I'm gonna discover one of my own someday._

He exhaled a small humorless laugh at his unrealistic optimism and shook his head.

 _I grew up in the Boy's Home you took me to._ He continued, _I've thought of it as the best unlucky thing that could've happened. Gee, I don't even wanna think about what would've happened otherwise. After that I went straight to work. Mr. Mushnik actually took me in, ma. What happened was when I was 9 I broke a vase in his shop. He told me I had to work the day to pay it off and I guess I did an okay job sweeping because a few years later I came back and he hired me. He gave me a job and a warm place to sleep. I'm forever grateful. I guess that's another good unlucky thing, huh._

He closed his eyes and took a breath before continuing.

 _Oh! I met a girl ma!_

Blushing, he tucked his chin in his collar.

 _I mean, she's not mine. She's too good for me so she probably never will be. But I dunno ma, she makes me really happy. She's my best friend. She's the one who pushed me to write to the New York state archives to find you. Wasn't that thoughtful of her? I bet you'd like her, she's fantastic. She works at the florist with me and likes green things. I just wish she were happier. I showed her the picture I found of you in the records. She thinks you were beautiful. I think so too. Mr. Stanley was right, we do look similar. I don't know who my dad is but I bet we don't share any similarities at all. I mean… at least I hope not._

A breeze picked up, knocking the carnations over and rolling them slightly to the left. His eyes followed and fell on the grave that was there. At first he jumped at what he saw until he noticed the dates and realized it was impossible. He laughed at his own ignorance and moved closer to that grave as well.

 **Seymour Nathaniel Krelborn**

 **December 30 1888 - February 23 1938**

 **A loving father**

 _Oh!_ His face lit up and he moved his eyes to his mother's grave. _Seymour! I see what you did there, ma. I like it._

He divided the arrangement and placed half in front of the new gravestone.

 _Hi Grandpa. Gee, I didn't know you'd be here too. This is a nice surprise. I'm Seymour, just like you! I don't have a middle name, but Nathaniel sure is nice._

The weather wasn't perfect. In fact it was quite brisk for May. There was a grey overcast and it felt like a strong mist was in the air, threatening rain at any moment. But Seymour didn't care. He was there with his family. He began to pick some grass, nervously fidgeting it with his fingers.

 _What I really came here to say was… I'm sorry._

He bit his lip and tried to blink back tears, impatiently ripping at the grass harder.

 _I'm sorry for what I did ma. If I wasn't here you would be. You gave your life for me and some life I've lived, right?_

He blubbered and drew his knees into his chest hiding his face.

 _I'm a shop hand ma. I sweep the floors of an old forgotten shop open to close every day. Bet you're glad you gave up your life for that, huh! I've never even left Skid Row! Pathetic as I am, Audrey would never love me back, why would she?_

He put his hands over his face and continued to cry.

 _I'm nothing, just like Mr. Mushnik said, and he's right ma. You're dead because of a nothin'._

Suddenly the breeze around him immediately ceased. The sun momentarily broke loose from the clouds and illuminated his back with warmth. And Seymour felt the unmistakable feeling of someone placing a hand on his shoulder for just a moment and it was gone. He knew what it meant though. He lifted his head and a smile spread across his face, still wet with tears. He glanced behind him already knowing no one would be there. He pulled himself off the ground and moved forward, pressing his palms on the top of his mother's grave.

 _I love you too, ma. Someday I'll make you proud of your boy._

 **If you prefer the directors cut/play ending you can stop right here. However, if you are as sad as I am right now, there's two more chapters.**

* * *

 _ **Author's note:** There's a hidden ode to the stories "The Big Day" and "Through Julie's Eyes" here. Shout out to S. Snowflake for writing those amazing fics, and shout out to you too if you caught the reference._

 _Credit to Howard Ashman, Alan Menken and Aladdin for "Proud of your boy"_


	13. Chapter 13: green dreams

_Author's note: as of 4-28-19 these last two chapters have been revised ever so slightly. The reason being is when I first wrote this story I was certain I'd never ever ever write post musical. And... well... I did. So instead of being canon in my friend's stories, they are canon to my own and fit the universe and timeline I created._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen:**

 **April 26 1965**

 _Such a lovely dream. The sky had never before appeared so blue. The flowers were something special. Seymour had seen Mushnik's shop in springtime, but this cascade of rainbow put even that little shop to shame. And the green! In all his life he had never seen so much green!_

 _Seymour was a little kid again. Admiring all of this with wide childlike wonder. He glanced down and saw his old sneakers. He had both the toes stuffed with newspapers to keep them from falling off. His clothes were too big as well and had been passed down from the older boys in the home. Both of the knees of his jeans were frayed and dirty, no doubt from leaning down to admire plants in the yard. On the bridge of his nose he felt the scrap of tape that had desperately held his first pair of glasses together. He smiled at these things like old friends._

 _Turning around to admire the field he stopped when he saw something. Just off in the distance there was a woman. One he had never met in his lifetime but he knew immediately who she was._

 _"Ma!" the child cried as his legs took off running, "Mama! Mama!"_

 _He was growing closer and outstretched his arms. Suddenly a sound behind him made young Seymour's feet stall. A growl similar to a lion. He'd heard it before. It sounded like Orin's bike, but it wasn't Orin behind him._

 _"Dad?" he gasped stopping and spinning around._

 _There was nothing there though, just more green field as far as he could see. Behind him his mother screamed and he spun back around. She was gone but her scream was still echoing._

 _"Mama?!"_

 _He continued running but it was pointless, she was already gone. Spinning around he saw nothing. Nothing but the field, so green and beautiful. The sound of his mother continued to wail. He couldn't see anyone but heard his parent's voices loud in his ears._

 _"Stupid woman!"_

 _"Erik that hurt!"_

 _Seymour clasped his hands at the sides of his head as he continued to spin. They were nowhere, but so loud. His mother kept screaming. The sound of pounding followed, similar to punches._

 _"Erik it's not my fault!"_

 _"Of course it's your fault! Everything is your fault!"_

 _Seymour squeezed his face and started screaming himself._

 _"Dad! Stop!"_

 _The sounds of striking and his mother's screams still pierced his ears._

 _"Dad don't hurt her!"_

 _The pounding continued._

 _"Stop it! Stop it! It's my fault!"_

 _Immediately all noises ceased. All the pounding, all the screaming, all the wailing disappeared. The only sound he heard was his own crying._

 _"It's my fault! It's my fault!"_

 _Seymour fell to his knees. He pulled his hands off his face and saw they were wet with blood._

 _"I did it," he sighed, "I killed her. Orin, Mr. Mushnik… my own mother. I killed them."_

 _He cried._

 _Suddenly he heard a laugh he knew all too well. The ground began to rumble and a vine shot out at him like the tentacle of a sea monster._

 _"No!" He screamed stumbling down to the ground, "No! Not you!"_

 _It's head emerged from the ground cackling with laughter. Seymour scrambled to his feet and tried to take off running. One of the vines snapped forward, grabbing his wrist pulling him back. He screamed as he used his other hand to try and pry the vine off his arm but it wasn't budging. He was much smaller and younger than he had been at their last meeting. Though, had Seymour been his normal age and size he still wouldn't have been able to defeat this beast now. Audrey ii continued to roar with laughter as another vine grabbed Seymour by the waist and pulled him forward. His feet began to scrape against the grass as he was dragged forward. That's when he felt two hands lightly being placed on his shoulders._

 _"Just tell it to go away," his mother said calmly._

 _"W...What?" he struggled, keeping his eyes fixed on the monster as it continued to tug his arms._

 _"It's not really here. It can't really hurt you. Just tell it to go away."_

 _Struggling for breath from the effort of pulling back he stuttered, "g.. Go away."_

 _Nothing happened and Audrey ii continued to laugh._

 _"Louder sweetheart."_

 _He yanked his arm back, pulling the vine with him. "Go away!"_

 _The vine loosened its vice on his arm only enough for him to pull it free from it's grasp._

 _"Go away!" He shouted again._

 _The vine on his waist loosened and unraveled before falling on the ground. However, Audrey ii didn't move, but continued to look at him licking its teeth._

 _"Go away!"_

 _Slowly all the vines slithered away and retracted back into the ground._

 _"GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!"_

 _And just like that the head sunk back into the earth. The ground around it returned to its normal state of greenery as if nothing had happened. Seymour stood back panting until finally he let out a laugh of relief. It was then he looked up at his mother, still holding him by the shoulders, and stepped away aghast._

 _She had been hurt. He could hardly make out her face behind a range of purple and green bruises and swelling. There was an open wound on her temple still dripping, staining the front of her pink floral dress. Bruises were along her neck the size and placement of fingerprints._

 _"Ma," he gasped._

 _She didn't say anything but continued to look at him._

 _"Oh ma!" he blubbered bringing his hands to his face and breaking down emotionally, "Mama I'm so sorry! I did this! This is my fault! I killed you!"_

 _He continued to scream and rant as she moved forward and got down on her knees so their eyes were level. She took his chin in her hand and gently pushed it up so he could see her eyes. To his complete surprise she was smiling shyly._

 _"Sweetheart, you didn't kill me," she said shaking her head._

 _He opened and closed his mouth completely dumbfounded. "But… But you're dead. If you hadn't had me you… dad did… you died having me so…"_

 _"Shhhh," she cooed pushing his hair out of his face with one hand and grabbing his hand with the other, still crimson with blood._

 _"Sweetheart you didn't kill me. He killed me."_

 _"Wha… what?"_

 _"He wanted to kill you. I wouldn't let him and he hurt me. And I was too weak to go on."_

 _"But… but he hurt you BECAUSE of me."_

 _"He hurt me because he was a bad man. You didn't kill me."_

 _Seymour tried to find words but they got caught in his throat. She continued to look on him so lovingly with her grey blue eyes. Seymour couldn't look at her and hung his head ashamed, keeping his eyes fixed on his sneakers. "If you weren't having me he wouldn't…"_

 _"Look at me," she interrupted._

 _Reluctantly Seymour rose his head and looked at his mother's battered face as tears filled his eyes again._

 _"You didn't do this. He did, and he paid the price for it."_

 _This caught Seymour off guard. She was quickly shutting down all the things he had been telling himself over the years._

 _"But mama… I…"_

 _"Shhhh." As she spoke she lifted his hand to her cheek and rested it there. Seymour saw her face begin to heal before his very eyes. The purple bruises slowly turned yellow and disappeared. The cut ceased bleeding and stitched itself closed leaving no trace it was ever there. It was then Seymour saw his mother's face properly for the first time, not hiding behind bruises or a grainy black and white photograph, but who she was. She was beautiful._

 _A warm smile spread across her face. "I'm so sorry I died sweetheart. I was just so eager to meet you but I guess I wasn't strong enough." she passed her hand through his curly hair again and continued to smile, "You turned out so beautiful."_

 _His face broke into a sheepish smile before he frowned and turned back to their hands._

 _"No. This isn't real. You said it yourself, you aren't really here."_

 _She rested her hand on his cheek and stroked it back and forth with her thumb._

 _"I've always been here sweetheart."_

 _He lifted his head again. This felt real. He desperately wanted it to be real. Maybe it was. Maybe this was his mother visiting him in a way she could._

 _"Ma, are you in heaven?"_

 _She smiled. "Your Grandpa says 'hi'."_

 _Seymour's eyes lit up. "Is… is this heaven?"_

 _She paused and glanced about the field._

 _"No," she said shaking her head, "It's even more beautiful than this."_

 _His eyes widened with interest. She turned her gaze back to him. Her expression was suddenly very serious and she lowered her voice._

 _"Sweetheart, I know things have been… hard for you lately with everything that has happened. And we will see each other again. I promise. I just… need you to take your time."_

 _He sat back stunned, not knowing what to say. How could she have known? He chewed on his lip and turned his eyes away briefly before bringing them back. Slowly he nodded._

 _"Okay," he breathed barely audible._

 _She brought her hand back to his cheek but he flinched and pulled away._

 _"It… it just gets really hard sometimes ma."_

 _"Good."_

 _Her bluntness caused him to look up._

 _"If it was easy you wouldn't be human."_

 _Seymour pondered this. It was true. He had done terrible things, because he was human. He had lied and hurt people, because he was human. He had love, because he was human. He felt guilt, because he was human. He felt hurt and broken, because he was human. All the while he had felt so alone in his pain but he wasn't and no one would ever be._

 _She smiled. "It gets hard, I know. Believe me, I know. I made my fair share of bad decisions and mistakes in my life. I'm sorry to say it, but they don't go away. But over time, you do learn to live with them."_

 _He found a hard time meeting her face and continued to chew his lip._

 _"But you wanna know something?" She said, at which he glanced back up, "Even with what happened, I don't consider you one of those mistakes. Not for one second."_

 _A wide smile lit up his face. Stepping forward he wrapped his small arms around his mother. For the first time ever, Alana held her child. He lay his head on her chest and was momentarily startled when he didn't feel her heart beating, but it wouldn't have been. He closed his eyes._

 _"I've done terrible things, ma," he whispered. As he spoke he rose his hand back up to glance at the blood which had now left stains on his skin. "Orin and Mr. Mushnik. I…"_

 _"You saved her," she interrupted._

 _And just like that the blood on his hands was washed away. He moved back and brought his gaze back to her face wide eyed._

 _"What?"_

 _She glanced over his head and smiled. She took both his hands in hers and worked her way to her feet. He moved up with her, growing and aging like magic until he was level with her. She nodded just over his shoulder._

 _"You saved her," she whispered pushing him to turn around._

 _Before him stood his angel. So beautiful in her white wedding dress from the night she barely made it out of the monster's jaws. The night Seymour had saved her and destroyed that plant for good, making it impossible for it to hurt another soul. Her smile was beaming. She looked radiant._

 _"Audrey?" he gasped as his mother let go of his hand._

 _She extended her arms and he ran into them, pulling her in a tight embrace._


	14. Chapter 14: Mothers day

**Chapter Fourteen:**

 **May 10 1970**

"Daddy!"

Seymour hadn't even moved out of the doorway before both his legs were attacked by his two children. Laughing he leaned down, kissed the top of his son Alan's head and hoisted his daughter Lucy into his arms.

"Whatcha bring?!" asked Alan moving quickly to see what was behind his back.

"Shhhhh! Where's your ma?" He whispered.

Lucy cupped her hands over Seymour's ear and whispered, "Outside."

He moved the arrangement into view. Alan ooed in response.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"They're called carnations. They're from our shop. Your grandma liked these."

Alan moved forward smiling and ran his fingers on the top of the petals.

"But why?" Lucy asked.

"Do you know what today is?" Seymour asked.

"Sunday!" Alan answered proudly.

"Well yes," Seymour laughed, "but it's also Mother's Day."

Alan's eyes moved from the pink flowers back to his father as a smile illuminated on his face.

"And we're giving them to mom!" Alan exclaimed as he made the connection.

Lucy gasped, unable to contain her excitement. Seymour exhaled a small laugh and put her down before dividing the flowers between his children. Lucy immediately took off running. Alan instead took his father's hand before following. Out the back door and past the flagstone patio they went. Audrey was tending to the window boxes outside the kitchen window with her back to them. When Lucy came running she turned. Her eyes widened with surprise.

"What's this?" she asked as Lucy extended her half bouquet.

By then Seymour and Alan had caught up. Alan, forgetting he was holding a bouquet, threw himself around his mother's legs for a hug. Caught up in all the excitement. Audrey laughed and passed her hand through his curly brown hair. She looked up at Seymour.

"What's all this?" she asked again.

He pulled her in for a hug, joining their son. Caressing her back he kissed her neck shortly before pulling away.

It was Lucy who spoke up. "It's mother's day!"

Audrey smiled.

"Oh it is." She crouched down to be level with her children as they extended their portions of the bouquet. "Pink carnations!" She smiled up at Seymour knowingly.

"Grandma's favorite!" Alan explained proudly.

"I know," Audrey sighed smiling. She gathered up the halves from her children and held them at eye level. "I think your Grandma would'a liked it if we put these in some wata', don'tcha think?"

Grabbing hold of her husband's hand, Audrey led them back into the house. She briefly handed the bouquet to Alan while she hunted for a vase in the cupboard. Seymour watched her do so and smiled. He couldn't help but think back to all the days at the shop he had marveled at her as she built arrangements. Years after he had met her in that little shop he still felt the same way he did gushing over her from across the counter. The feeling of magic. Audrey caught sight of him staring and smiled back. She filled the vase with water and placed it on the dining room table. Alan handed the flowers off and she slid them in.

"Beautiful," Audrey stated, standing back to admire them. She glanced at Seymour and saw his smile slowly falling as he gazed into the arrangement. Audrey, catching sight of his falling spirits, pulled out two of the flowers.

"Here. I think we need to honor some other motha's."

He stared for a moment before a smile spread wide across his face. Holding his hand she led him into the living room.

On the mantle is where the Krelborns kept their photographs. In small little silver frames sat a collection of black and white snapshots of the family and their children over the years as they grew, and loved, and learned. Tucked among them Audrey kept another photo from her childhood of a small and spunky blonde girl at the age of two sitting next to her mother. She had very few photos of the two of them happy, but here they were both laughing. And then there was one photo that was quite different. It had been discovered in a folder in city records many years prior. It appeared to be a school photo of a girl in her late teenage years. Though colorless in the photo her eyes were quite bright, enlightened by her smile. Her round face and curly hair were identical to her son's. Seymour smiled at it as he lay down the flowers next to the photographs. Audrey rested her head on his shoulder.

"She woulda' been proud," she cooed.

It wasn't the material things in their life that made it worth living. Seymour had love. He had the love of his wife and their two children. And he had gotten that without the help of a talking plant. Despite her fear, he had turned out alright after all. Looking down, she was proud of her boy.

 **The End**

* * *

 ** _Final Author's note:_**

 _Oh my god we did it! Both of us! I actually finished this story and you finished reading it! High five!_

 _If you are reading this I would like to thank you. This originally was going to be a quick 5 chapter fic, ever so briefly expanding on the original fic, and here we are on Chapter 14. This honestly took part of my soul to write, and I never thought I would go this deep, or love carnations this much. That being said I have since gone back and watched the movie and Alana's flower, pink carnations, show up several times. They are on the table in the scene where Audrey builds the funeral arrangement and also in "Feed me (git it)", and finally in the wedding bouquets of the theatrical ending. His mother was always there in a way._

 _Some thanks I need to give are to Nixxie-the-lizard for writing a little snip bit about Alana and Erik and inspiring this entire thing. The idea that Seymour and Orin are brothers is genius and I couldn't have come up with that. Thank you for letting me piggy back on it!_

 _I also need to thank S. Snowflake. Through this entire story they have dealt with my random middle of the night DocX and rambling. If it hadn't have been for their critique and help this would've been left for dead long ago. Thank you for, well, everything!_

 _If you liked this check out the fic that inspired it:_

 _"I started life as an orphan" by Nixxie-the-lizard_


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